


Fours

by WishfulT



Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:54:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishfulT/pseuds/WishfulT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times a Choice was made...</p>
<p>Valdemar belongs to Mercedes Lackey. I own nada.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maiden

_Wind's Four Quarters, air and fire,_  
 _Earth and water, grant my desire;_  
 _Hear my plea who stands_  
 _alone..._

The holding was two weeks' ride from Haven...for a horse, anyway.  
For a Companion, particularly one on this errand, it took only five days. 

Her hooves beat a fierce thunder along the dusty ground. She fought the impulse to race along at full speed. It would tire her out to no good purpose, and delay her getting there by forcing her to slow or stop.  
She halted at sunset, of the first day, to eat and sleep at a Waystation. A lean, gray-haired woman in a Guard uniform, who smelled of warm earth, apples, and cold metal, led her to the stable, giving her a brisk, thorough rubdown without being asked, then left her with grain and water. Gala nuzzled her cheek in thanks.  
"Y'welcome, m'lady," the woman said gruffly. "If you need anything else, make it known and my lads will see to it."  
Exhaustion swept over her the minute she lay down. She closed her eyes, dimly sensing the Guards' presence outside the building, watchful and calm...a note of wistfulness; the woman had once dreamed of being a Herald, too. Yet she hadn't let her emotions show through the professionalism.  
Her thoughts instinctively reached further out,even as she dozed...

_  
_

"Damn it, Staven, the priest was only trying--"

"He's. Not. Possessed." His twin's voice was icy. "And it's Lord Frelennye to you, Mistress Alana."  
Shocked silence followed. Tylendel buried his face in his pillow, fighting tears. He didn't want them to hear him.  
He'd never heard his brother sound so angry. Nor had their aunt, he suspected, for she fell uncharacteristically silent.  
"No one was hurt this time," Staven told him when he entered Tylendel's bedroom a few minutes later. "Heya, that outbuilding was half-rotten and falling over anyway. It's not like we're short on wood here." He sat at the foot of the bed, reaching for Tylendel's hand. "Head ache?"  
"Y-Yes...it's better when you're around," Tylendel admitted.  
A chuckle. "Well, you're stuck with me. Here, sit up. " 

The tea tasted faintly bitter, but Tylendel obediently drank it all. Staven sat with him, quiet, thinking. 

Gala woke, feeling a cool breeze wash over her. She got up. Dawn was lightening the sky, black fading to dark blue, a few stars still visible overhead.  
She shook herself, and set out. It was midsummer, or nearly so; warm enough to travel even before daylight.  
The next several days fell into a pattern. She rested when she needed to, but no longer than that.  
Finally, rocky, muddy trails gave way to a village's smoother roads. Houses, a few shops, and a mile or two off, the tower of the local Lord's keep. There...  
People stared as Gala trotted by, riderless. A few children watched her with hopeful eyes.  
This close, her Chosen's emotions were like a deafening roar that she had to actively work to block out. His Gift for Mindspeech was already active, she realized, and...Mage-gift too?  
Even concern at that realization couldn't dampen the joyful anticipation she felt as she reached the Keep's front gate. This wouldn't be easy, perhaps, but oh, she wouldn't be alone anymore...  
A wild, fear-laced burst of power nearby jolted her out of her thoughts. She didn't hesitate before hurrying toward the spot where it had originated.  
Two young boys were sprawled on the ground. A few lengths away, a bloody, mangled pile of intestines that had once been a mule shuddered once, and lay still. Shattered glass and wooden fragments jutted out of the animal's body.  
The air was heavy, smelling of ozone, as if in the seconds before a storm's breaking...but the sky was clear.  
One of the boys stirred, sat up, pushing dark hair out of his eyes roughly with bruised, bloodstained fingers. He didn't notice her. His attention was on his friend...no, his brother. The resemblance between them was unmistakable, though the other lad was blond. Light and dark, but still twinned.  
" 'Lendel. C'mon, wake up. " The brunet put an arm around the blond's shoulders. "Come back."

"S-Staven? Did I-- " Then Tylendel's breath caught. "Look Stav," he urged, sitting up, pointing urgently at her. "It's a Companion!"  
Staven glanced at her, still somewhat distracted. "Hey, pretty lady," he greeted her, with a genuine--if weary--smile. "Welcome to our hold. "  
Gala snorted, amused. At least this one wouldn't have to be told that she wasn't a runaway horse in need of branding. She'd heard some hair-raising stories from other Companions.  
She paced forward delicately, looking into Tylendel Frelennye's eyes.  
 _:You are Tylendel. I am Gala. I Choose you,:_ she whispered, letting her joy melt into the words.  
Surging emotions flooded across the new link between them. Confusion. Hope and fear mingled. And under it, a bite of raw, twisting mage-energy that made them both flinch.  
 _:No,:_ Gala mindspoke firmly. She reached, setting a shield about him, one that would catch and absorb any more out-of-control power. From the look of things, her Chosen and his family had had quite enough of this sort of excitement for a very long time.  
"Me. Y-You want me?" The amazement in Tylendel's voice made Staven turn to stare at his twin, then comprehension dawned.  
He let go and stepped back, leaving Companion and newly Chosen Herald-trainee to have this time alone.  
Tylendel gazed into her eyes, the fear replaced by wonder. _:You stopped it--didn't you? I felt another fit, but--then you were there...:_ struggling to put it in words.

_:Not 'fits' in the usual sense, Chosen. It's not a disease that's affecting you. It's magic. Uncontrolled Gifts. :_ Gala let him rest against her. _:But I can keep it damped down until we get you to Haven, to a Herald-Mage who'll help you learn to use the Gift instead of it breaking loose this way. :_

_She's so beautiful and she's not afraid, not ..._

_:No, Chosen, heart's brother. I'm not afraid. I promise you, you'll never be something I fear, or turn away from. :_  
She nuzzled his hair tenderly, as Tylendel hugged her around the neck, happy tears spilling down his cheeks into her silvery-white mane.


	2. Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four times a Choice is made...

The trees were gilded with silver, late-winter ice still coating their branches. The sun brought little warmth to the air, and none to ease the bone-deep cold inside Lyra's skin.  
She turned away from the window, facing the two adults who sat in a room used for family meetings, or private audiences. This conversation could be considered both, she admitted.  
"You know I don't ask this lightly."  
"I do. " It was her Queen, not "Mother", that met a young princess' hazel eyes. "I still must ask, are you sure. Once it's done, it won't easily be changed if you have regrets."

"I am. Valdemar can't afford any more of this...more to the point, neither can I or your son." Lyra ran a hand through her short, sandy blonde hair. "It's become a matter of whether we bend, or break." 

"...that bad?" Selenay bit her lip.

"He...needs to be Chosen, in a way I don't. And it well may be, Valdemar needs him as much. But without a Companion-- his anger and jealousy are starting to eat at him. " 

"Where would you go?" Her father looked troubled, as he reached to take her hand in his. 

Lyra mentally braced herself for a shouting match. "Hardorn."

"...what in...!!" 

Raised voices and glares, met with fiery temper and steely determination not to yield.  
She might not be a Herald--but she was Valdemaren. She would not let herself cow down. 

Lyra mentioned nothing of her own recent dreams. Of a longing for freedom, to be alone, to see more of the world than Haven.  
Or even Valdemar.  
Said nothing of seeing unfamiliar mountains, a cold, bleak-looking valley that ached with emptiness, still only half-healed from misuse, its winds whispering her name, when she closed her eyes to sleep.  
Long hours later, exhausted, heartsick, but triumphant, she returned to her quarters. If her eyes were reddened from tears, the Guardsmen outside the Queen's door had the prudence to say nothing as she walked away.  
She would go, and not return, for at least a full year. Selenay and Daren had agreed to that. It had shocked everyone when Talia took her side in the quarrel, but the Queen's Own had been as adamant as Lyra herself.  
Two possible heirs to a Throne on which only one could sit. Their older sister no longer in line for that throne. The Companions remaining firmly silent, well into the twins' fourteenth year, giving no sign of Choosing either of the Queen's children.  
There was a soft knock on the door. She glanced up.  
Her own gifts--mindspeech, healing, a touch of earth-magic like her father--weren't especially strong, but enough to tell her who was on the other side. She pressed her lips together. Took a moment to strengthen her shields before she went to answer it.  
She rose from her seat, an old, battered armchair that was comfortable rather than fancy, and crossed to the door, yanking it roughly open.  
Kris--Kristovan, Prince of Valdemar, Heir-Presumptive, stood there, tapping his foot in annoyance at being made to wait.  
Lyra stared at him coolly. "What now?" 

"I. I thought I should apologize. I just don't understand why you--"  
She ignored the flicker of hurt in his eyes when she drew back, shaking her head. His rueful smile vanished, as well as the dismay, his expression darkening. 

"The link between us was turning into a stranglehold," Lyra said. "You have to stand on your own two feet, Kris. We both do. Expecting me to be your personal servant or magical battery whenever you can't talk yourself out of trouble? I'm done with it. You aren't my King yet, if ever. I won't kneel like one of those feet-licking toadies you call friends." 

Kris stiffened. "It's hardly as if you never ask me for help, little sister," he snapped. "You needn't act as if you're as selfless as one of Astra's priests. Who helped you learn what little magic you're good for? Who covered for you when you spent the night in that Bard's room--and not learning to play music, either." 

"I never claimed otherwise. It changes nothing. We both have growing up to do, and it's waited long enough. And we're talking in circles here. If that's all you have to say, we're done." Lyra deliberately closed the door--and locked it.  
It took her a long moment to rein in her temper. She'd never been the patient or easygoing twin, and when her emotions flared...self-control hadn't come easily. When she and Kris both entered adolescence, they'd struggled with control of new Gifts as well as these emotional surges. 

Screaming at her brother wasn't how she wanted to say goodbye to him.  
She pulled on a cloak, and went outdoors.  
Maybe a ride...? The bay gelding she'd named Mischief, a gift from Kerowyn for her birthday, was a joy. She wandered toward the stables.  
: _I'm sure he is,_ : a voice whispered, _:but perhaps you'd like someone who can also talk as well as run?_ :  
Lyra jumped, startled, and turned.  
A pair of luminous blue eyes met hers. 

: _I am Donia, Lyra._ :  
Caring, reassurance, warmth, washed over her. The Companion's presence was like a light chasing away the shadows/fear/doubt that had begun to claw at both twins' hearts of late. Those eyes looked deep into her. Saw who Lyra was, for good and ill...and loved her, regardlessly. 

_:In Valdemar or outside of it, dear, you are more than fit to be a Herald. When we meet up with Elspeth, she might have a few stories to tell you about her own growing years,_ : Donia told her Chosen. She nuzzled Lyra's hair. _:Shh. It's all right. Come, let's ride. And whatever you face in Hardorn, we'll take it together._ : There was a feeling of iron underlying silk in those last words. Despite her sweetness, the Companion was no innocent filly. 

"But Companions don't leave Valdemar--"

_:Not always true. We rarely do, but things have changed. And I think you're quite right that we're needed there, not here. But leave duty for now? This is our night._ :  
Lyra couldn't stop grinning. 

The wind blew through the trees, as Companion and Chosen raced across the fields, as if they were taking flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the hardest to write. Still not entirely happy with it. I suspect Kris and Lyra's story may turn into a work of its own, before long.  
> Thanks so much for the kudos!


	3. Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four times a Choice was made...

Mornings in the Eastern Empire, he had to admit, had been (usually) routine. Coffee, a light breakfast, some time spent with his Steward and Armsmaster, and the few other members of his household who wanted to get up at not-quite-dawn.  
Rarely had Koros, former Baron of Valdemar have to cope with a child's nightmares...particularly not when said nightmares could actually bite.  
He wiped sweat-soaked hair away from his eyes, a hand shaking with weariness.  
Blinked away tears, as he glanced across the room, where a Healer leaned over a little boy whose body, even in a heavily drugged sleep, was still twisted in pain.  
Their wards had held against Darin's night terrors made (temporarily) real. Barely. 

Elspeth's hands came to rest on his shoulders. Without speech, his wife 'tossed' him a line of mage-energy, warm and silvery, washing away his exhaustion. Elspeth, like him, was a trained mage. Valdemar was a Master, but his lady was a rank higher, an Adept.  
Of late, her skills had meant the difference between safety and slaughter for them all. They had all had to work themselves to the limit, just to survive.  
"How is he?" 

Elspeth sighed. "Stable, for now. Damn it...I swear, if I ever see Karsten again, I _will_ call challenge on him, Emperor's heir or not. " 

Valdemar smiled tightly. "You don't think I could get to him first, m'love?"

His Barony had been on the western border of the Empire's claimed lands. He rarely had much truck with the Emperor's courtiers, and until a year and a half ago, had never had the _honor_ of meeting Prince/Heir Karsten.  
Their first meeting had...certainly been memorable. 

The Imperial Heir was a powerful mage. An ambitious one. Well, the two would go hand-in-hand at Court. The meek or gentle wouldn't last long there.  
His experiments in tapping the power of other mages to strengthen himself wasn't surprising. However, he and Valdemar had disagreed --violently--on the means he used.  
Darin was one of several low-born, commoner children who had some talent for magery themselves. Some were Karsten's bastards, others, not. It made no difference.  
Most of them were fortunate enough to die quickly, if not painlessly, under his 'mercies'.  
When the Heir, during his visit to the barony, had demanded to be allowed unrestricted access to Valdemar's people--including Elspeth's newborn daughter--for his purposes,  
that had been the final straw. Several of his entourage had not survived the quarrel that resulted. 

The Prince had returned to Crag Keep with a scarred, empty eye socket, and a limp that no healer would ever be able to cure. 

They'd fled, rather than be made to answer for their "rebellious" behavior--or be forced to comply with the Emperor's wishes. 

The new land was bitterly cold, and unsettled. He, and some six hundred of his people, had left the Empire, meaning to live without fear hanging over them or their families. 

This life wasn't easy, and yet... he felt more at peace than he could ever recall. 

Valdemar sighed. 

"Father?" 

A shy little toddler peered around the tentflap. Valdemar knelt and held out his arms. 

Jasmyn, his daughter, was so like a miniature version of Elspeth that it amazed him. It was like being shown an image of his wife when she was still a child.

He held her, taking comfort as well as giving it. Of all the joys he'd had since their voluntary exile, his family were the greatest. 

"Majesty." A guardsman ducked to enter the Healers' tent. "Forgive my disturbing you, sir, but--"

He didn't think he'd ever become completely used to that. However, his folk (including Elspeth, of all people), had insisted that if they were going to found a new kingdom, they needed a monarch. Elspeth had threatened to curse him with permanent impotence if he even _thought_ of crowning her sole ruler. (He didn't even dare to admit that the thought had crossed his mind. Of course, knowing his wife, he suspected she already knew.)

King Koros...of a realm, not a barony, but also called Valdemar. 

"Yes?" He relinquished Jasmyn to her mother, straightening up.

"You asked to be told when it was half a candlemark to sunset..."

"Oh. Yes, thank you, Ricard." He smiled at the younger man. "How goes your training? I hear you outdid your fellows at the last archery trials."

The guardsman flushed with pleasure at his King's words. "Thank you, sir. I still have a bit of trouble with book-learning, but my father taught me everything he knew of bow-hunting, and he was a master at it. "

"I'll be going to the grove shortly, to keep private vigil. Until dawn."

"Yes, sir." 

Koros went to the grove. it was peaceful, a ring of tall trees that hid the interior from sight. He and Elspeth sometimes went there to meditate, or to simply relax in the quiet.   
Tonight, he had another purpose. 

He didn't often ask the Powers Above for help. HIs family, while respectful of the gods, had brought him up to believe that the Powers helped those who helped themselves first.   
Yet he needed wisdom, insight, and possibly aid to outlast a mortal lifetime. 

He knelt on the cool, mossy ground, head bowed, and prayed. He whispered the names and titles of every Power he'd ever heard of, carefully, reverently. 

He laid his heart bare, his hopes, his fears for his people, his need to see them safe. 

Hours slid by. As midnight neared, he felt a surge of energy. Bluish-white light enveloped the grove, blinding him, but not burning. 

Valdemar stumbled to his feet, reflexively groping for the sword he'd set down.

_:Be not afraid, brother,:_ voices chorused, a rich, melodic sound. A bell chimed, somewhere nearby. 

When his vision cleared, he found himself no longer alone. 

Three beings, glowing like living stars, had entered the grove. They might look like horses, but they were plainly not animals. One stepped toward him.   
He bowed, unsure of what to say. The King's Companion saved him the effort.

 

_: I am Ardatha, Koros. :_


End file.
